Charley’s countenance, and the angry flash which shot from his eyes.  Rising to his feet, he said in a voice of deep displeasure:  “Since you are so fond of a new friend, I suppose you no longer consider an old one worth retaining, so I will trouble you no longer.”  I attempted to reason with him, saying I could not see why a new friendship should alienate us who had been friends from our childhood; but by this time he had worked himself into a fearful passion and made use of very violent language.  I had learned long ago that when his anger was excited, he was not master of either his words or actions.  I stepped forward, and laying my hand upon his shoulder tried to recall him to himself, but he threw off my hand as if my touch had been contamination, and without another word walked from the room.  As I looked after his retreating form as he walked hastily down the street I could not help a feeling of pity for him, that he should suffer himself to be governed by such an unhappy temper, for I knew that when his anger became cooled he would bitterly repent of his conduct.  To the reader who has never met with one possessing the unhappy disposition of Charley Gray, his character in these pages will seem absurd and overdrawn; but those who have come in close contact with a like nature will only see in this sketch a correct delineation of one of the most unhappy dispositions which affect mankind.  Charley was endowed with rare gifts of mind and intellect, and was manly and sensible, and setting aside this one fault it was hard to find a more agreeable and pleasant companion.  His absurd conduct was often a matter of after-wonder to himself, and he made frequent resolutions of amendment, which only held good till some cause roused his old enemy.  I suppose no more proper name could be found for this unhappy disposition than exclusiveness, for what ever or whoever he liked, he wanted all to himself.  He was respectful and courteous to all, but intimate only with a very few, and for those few his affection went beyond the bounds of reason, inasmuch as it was a source of unhappiness to himself and all connected with him.

I cherished no resentment toward Charley, knowing him as I did, but I knew the folly of trying to reason with him in the state of mind in which he left me.  It must have been a hard struggle with his pride, for Charley was very proud, but his good sense prevailed, and he came to seek me.  “You are freely and fully forgiven,” said I, in reply to his humble acknowledgment of wrong-doing; “but do Charley for your own sake as well as that of others try and subdue a disposition which if not conquered, will render you unhappy for life.  If I am your friend does it follow that I must have no other, and the making of other friends will never diminish my regard for you, the earliest and best friend I have ever known.”  “I am sensible,” replied he, “of all and more than you can tell me of the unreasonableness and absurdity of my own